Remember Or Not
by Echo1317
Summary: She is swimming beneath his closed eyelids, a blur in the darkness, always walking away from him. Simon/Isabelle, two-shot
1. Chapter 1

**A/N** Wow, I've been gone for a while, huh? Well, I'm back, with new chapters and new stories, several of which will probably come today. Look for 'em. :)

This was actually an assignment for school at first, all we had to do was write a creative piece between 500 and 1000 words that was appropriate for people our age. I had no good ideas, so I decided to start this story for a fanfiction, and then one of my other teachers read it, and said I could probably turn it in for a grade, so I did. Yay for killing two birds with one stone!

I decided to try writing this style, and I'm not sure that I'm too good at it, but it was really fun. Enjoy!

* * *

She is swimming beneath his closed eyelids, a blur in the darkness, always walking away from him. She's been there, in his head, for as long as he can remember, and he can't remember much these days. With all of them gone, she's the one shred of his humanity that he has left (he doesn't count the boy with blue hair, he's just like him, he never counted).

He's thought about her so long that, while he can still see her, she isn't clear at all (tall or short? chubby or thin? dark or pale?). He can't remember her eye color (was it blue? green? brown?). He can't recall her hair (long? short? black? red?). She had a name, a pretty name, but he doesn't know what it is anymore (Clarissa? Maia? Shelia?). Which one is she?

He doesn't know, he doesn't know, and it's killing him to think that maybe he _can't_ think anymore.

She used to touch him and send signals straight to his brain, electricity that shocked him even when all she did was brush her fingers against his arm. Her fingers were long and lovely (but were they an artist's hands? or a warrior's?) There was a ring on one of them (left hand or right?), that bound her to someone (her brother or her lover?), and maybe if he could just see that ring, it would send him back to whatever reality she is in (is she reality? or is she just a dream?).

He wonders for a moment if she really did love him, whoever she was (of course she did). There was always that question mark, a lingering wonder, if maybe she stayed too long until it was too late, and she, his angel, fell down with the rest of them, while he stayed young and beautiful and perfect and all those other nice words she used to call him. He knows that if she could see him now, some of the words she would use might not be as pretty as those.

He is lying on the floor and staring up at the ceiling, tracing patterns in the slick surface that might look like she did (but the image changes every time he starts it over again). The thin glass over his eyes obscures his vision, making it hard to watch for so long without getting dizzy, so he closes his eyes again, and suddenly, he sees her, just as vivid and lovely and delicate and strong as she was when she was just eighteen, just as she was when she died (but did she die at 18? or is his faulty memory just playing tricks on him?)

He gasps in surprise, not daring to open his eyes for a second, fearing that if he does so, if he rips apart the picture, it will never come back, and that is something he can't handle. He can see her, really see her _so_ clearly, and he wants so badly to weep with joy. More than that, he wants to take her in his arms again and hold her, just hold her, and never let her go again. Her long, thick black hair, her deep, mischievous charcoal eyes, her creamy white skin. That ring on her hand, her fighter's hand, it was the one he gave her, a long silver band (she always preferred silver jewelry) set with one tiny, sapphire colored stone (the exact same color as her brother's eyes, she'd said) in the middle of it.

She steps back from him for one moment, and whispers how sorry she is, for being away so very long. He can't speak, he can't breathe, and though he is itching to run to her, he lets her have her space, knowing that, like a cat, the more you want to love her the more she wants to get away. She tells him how much she loves him, her songbird's voice breaking his already shattered heart into a million more tiny pieces to scatter around the barren wasteland of his soul. Finally, he can't take it anymore.

She reaches for him at the exact same moment that he reaches for her, and for that moment, she is finally, finally in his arms, her face nuzzled into his neck just the way it used to be. For that moment she is his again, all his, all beauty and fire and passion, and all _Isabelle_, just the way he knows her to be, exactly the way he remembers her. He wants this moment to last forever. He never wants to let her go. He never wants to forget again. She is so real here that he believes with all the tiny pieces of his heart that if he takes this chance, if he opens his eyes now, she'll be there in front of him, just like she is in this perfect dream.

But when he does open his eyes, the illusion shatters. She is gone again, and all he can remember of her is the taste of her lips on his for one last kiss, and the image of her back retreating as the ghost of his life walks away from him once and for all.

The patterns he traces on the ceiling with his eyes are ordinary things now, birds and hearts and rings set with a sapphire stone (doesn't that color look like something else?). There is a thought nagging at the back of his brain (but he doesn't remember what it was). All he can feel now is the cold, dull ache in his chest where he thinks his heart might have been a while ago, even if he is certain that he doesn't have one of those anymore. He knows that she (the girl who his not-quite-conscious mind registers as Isabelle, even while his thoughts don't know who she is) took it with her wherever she went to. She gets to keep it forever, and he knows he can't ever have it back.

* * *

Did you like it? Here's the explaination: The guy whose point of view it's in is Simon. It's maybe a hundred years or so after Isabelle's death, and he's still grieving, even though he can hardly remember her. Yeah... kind of weird, but I'm writing a second chapter that goes along with it.

Review please? Thanks!

-Echo1317


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** Here's part 2! To clarify, in this one 'she' is Isabelle, 'her brother' is Alec, and 'he' is (usually) Simon. It's kind of scary; this one has exactly the same number of words as the other one. I swear I wasn't trying to do it, it just came out that way. :)

* * *

She is holding on to the memory of him with everything she has left, and she doesn't think she has much. He may have left her here (just because she isn't going to stay young and beautiful and perfect forever like him). He haunts her actions (he's there every time she moves) and her thoughts (he is every thought), smiling so widely like he always did. Her heart skips a beat (because of his smile, or is she dying?).

Her brother (eyes just like that sapphire stone her ring), finds her curled up on her bed, eyes bloodshot and frame trembling with memories she almost doesn't want to remember. Arms are holding her (but not the right ones) and she isn't sure what she's just done until her brother pulls away, hand suddenly stained red with something (she knows it's blood, she knows she did that). Her brother looks at her with a mixture of pity (because she's obviously hurt) and disgust (because she's so much stronger than this). She watches as her brother walks away, hears the door slam, and feels her brother's heartache that matches her own (except it doesn't, because the boy with blue hair still comes around, he doesn't count).

He is there when her mother is dead, and she imagines (she's sure she's only imagining, he wouldn't really be able to be there so fast) that he holds her, his hands warm and comfortable as they stroke her hair. She hears his voice, absolutely convincing, telling her it will be ok, even though she knows it won't. Her mother is already dead, she can feel blood seeping out of her side, draining away her own life. He is saying he loves her (still), that he won't leave her (again), and she needs with all her (wasted) soul to believe him. She clings to him, memorizing everything about him that she can. Fair skin, deep brown eyes (covered by glasses he doesn't need), not-quite-long dark hair, and soft pink lips (they taste like sweet peppermint). Even if he is only imaginary, even if he'll go away and leave her and kill her all over and over and over again it's worth it just for this one moment.

Pain hits her like a shock wave, emanating from the hold in her side (she always knew she would die like this). She whispers his name (simon), then again (Simon), louder (SIMON), until the only thing holding her there is his name. Something else bites into her side (fear?) and then it bites harder (help?), and she closes her eyes against the hurt (no more of that, please). When she opens them, he's gone, but her brother's hand is clasped around hers and she's staring up into a bright, fluorescent light attached to the ceiling.

She screams as loud as she can, a high pitched ear splitting wail (but he can't hear her). Her brother wrenches his hand away, standing up and trying to calm her down, shushing her and telling her it's going to be alright (it won't it wont it won't). She screams and screams and screams until her throat is dry and her cheeks are wet, and so are her brother's because he knows he's lost her (but did he ever really have her?). The world around her is blurry and she can't see anything that isn't him (he's only in her head), she stops her tears but she still can't focus. There are spots of color and light dancing around her mind, following her everywhere when all she wants is for them to go away.

She doesn't want to close her eyes, so she leaves them open as long as she can, fixed on the ceiling (tracing patterns, like he taught her to do). She doesn't want to fall into his arms (yes, she does) because she'll have to leave them again so soon, too soon, she can't do that. Depressed. Comatose. Dead. Those are words that describe her at this moment, laying on her back, tracing patterns in the ceiling, and not (not) thinking about him. She won't think about him (she will, and it kills her).

It's cliché, she thinks, the girl who looses herself because she lost a boy (no, not just a boy, _the_ boy), and she wonders where along these lines she walks did she become that girl? She wasn't supposed to be like this (but he wasn't supposed to leave her), and she always said she knew it would end (but she didn't think it would be that soon). He was just sixteen (seventeen? eighteen? twenty?) and he'd stay that way forever, and after she thinks it over, she realizes that it's her fault.

She took him to that party, she made him drink. She brought this upon herself, all the pain, all the heartache (her fault). She wants to scream again, but she knows screaming only upsets everyone and does nothing to help her (nothing can help her). She doesn't want to be this girl. All she wants is him. He saved her life (was it just a week ago?), but did she really want him to? Shouldn't he have just left her there? It would be better than this (better than being without him). She wants to hate him for it (he thought she would be ok), she wants to kill him and kill herself and kill every moment they ever had just like she's killed all the other demons (in the city and in her mind).

She traces those patterns, the lovely ones he told her about (a million years ago in this very bed), hearts (her broken one) and birds and rings (the one on her finger) and everything else that doesn't matter to her anymore. The thoughts in her head are empty, like the smile on her mouth and the place in her chest where her heart used to be. He took it away (he was the only one who could ever reach it).

* * *

Did you catch some of the things that appeared in both chapters, like the ring, the boy with blue hair (Magnus), and the patterns on the ceiling? Maybe I'll do something else with that, but not right now. There's too many other projects to finish first...

I hope you enjoyed this, and please, if you could, review? Thanks!

-Echo1317


End file.
